Easter Bunny

To save my life I will never understand how on earth we ever get our children to believe a bunny will somehow break into the homes of Christian children around the world (or maybe just America?) and leave plastic eggs, presumably laid by plastic chickens, all over the house to celebrate the rising of Jesus from the dead.

Santa? Sure.

Tooth Fairy? Perfectly logical.

But the Easter Bunny? How do we ever pull that one off every year?

Fred

After 96 years, certain things start to go. Like your short-term memory, for instance. 

I suppose it's called dementia. At its root it is a heartbreak waiting to happen with every interaction. So when occasion for laughter pops up, it is important to take advantage of it or you will end up in tears far more often than Jesus would prefer.

Mama started like the rest of us, not remembering the little things like what time dinner will be served or which day of the week it is. Slowly she lost that part of her brain which stores things like where she lives or what year it is. Eventually she lost the part in charge of remembering how old her children are, who her grandchildren are, and whether or not she has great-grandchildren.

It was shortly after this latest revelation that I, her favorite (or so I've always believed) granddaughter, was visiting her. After trying to no avail to explain our familial relation to each other, I pulled out her photo album for clarification. We flipped through pages, she recognized her parents. She pointed out her brother and sister. She seemed to know her children's baby pictures, but she had no idea how old they were or where they lived now.

But then we flipped to her childhood pet, a cat named Fred. And that is when a firework of recognition ignited in her brain.

"Oooh! Fred!" she exclaimed, looking at the photo as if she could will him right back onto her lap by simply longing for him. "I loved Fred," she said with the emotion of a lover lost. "I will NEVER forget Fred," she smiled at me, so pleased she actually had a memory after all.

I tried, Lord I tried to be happy for her. But really? Her cat?

New York, New York

I'm not sure I can ever go back to New York again after this last trip, for any other attempt at fun in the city would never measure up...

Wednesday:  Flight is delayed an hour, giving us enough time to grab a couple of margaritas at the KCI Mexican bar. Delicious, relaxing and right on time to head to New York, where we find LGA is an even bigger dump than it was when we last left it three years ago. We extract our luggage from the conveyor belt without touching anything unnecessarily while some poor dad in need of attention embarrasses his teenage son by pulling out his guitar and singing "867-5309" for all of us waiting around the luggage carousel. Made mental note to never do that ourselves and caught cab to my brother's where we stayed up until 1:00 talking to Philip and his awesome roomie, Lindsay. Philip advises us, "You can't plan crazy."

Thursday:  Cross the Empire State Building

 and The Nate Berkus Show off the list,

belly up to a fabulous Indian buffet while rain falls outside, check in to our c-r-a-p-p-y West Village apartment and take a nap. Meet Lindsay, Philip and his GF, Colleen, in Times Square

for a quick bite and some vino. Laugh our a$$e$ off at "Book of Mormon." I mean tears, aching abs, the works. That kind of laugh. Want to see it again and again kind of laugh. Still 38% certain we will all burn in hell for laughing at the content.

Friday:  Walk around in the rain to find breakfast, return. Walk around in rain to South Street Sea Port and score 2 tickets to see Robin Williams in Bengal Tiger at Baghdad Zoo and eat phenomenal sushi at Nobu. Nap, throw a pastrami sandwich down en route to theater and sit 8 rows back from Robin Freaking Williams as he portrays a tiger ghost pondering the meaning of life and death. Drinks with Philip and Colleen and friend, Jess, at an old speakeasy in the Village. Walk up our crooked stairs to our crappy apartment that is beginning to grow on us and drift to sleep with visions of Robin Williams dancing in our heads.

Saturday:  Sun finally shines as we stroll SoHo. Eat the best corn on the cob in the world at Cafe Habana with Philip and Colleen. Return to our not-as-bad-as-we-thought apartment for a nap. Wake up just in time to receive text from Jason that he has 2 extra tickets to Saturday Night Live. Pee our pants a little. Respond to text and - via Colleen's for snacks and a drink with Philip - make our way to 30 Rock for the best night ever. Elton John hosts. Will Forte makes an appearance. So does Jake Gyllenhaal. And Carmello Anthony. Oh, and Tom Hanks. We decide we are now in the red with karma and we will have to be much nicer to people.

Night continues with karaoke at Sing Sing with Philip, Colleen, and friends, Max and Kristin.

Ends at 5:00 in the morning as we climb the crooked stairs to our I-guess-I-could-stay-here-again apartment.

Sunday:  Brunch with pal, Jamey, and his life partner in crime, Qraig. Nap. Walk to green line through Washington Square Park and see this guy:

with his piano under the street light. Want to stay there forever and ever but dinner is calling at Max and Kristin's, so we make our way to Murray Hill for an outstanding evening with friends and brother.

Monday:  Two very tired Kansans board the plane back home. VERY tired. And very, very happy.